Bloom Baby Bloom

Somewhere between anger and liberation, something stubborn, prickly and alive blossoms. The very force that long pretended to be fragile has now stood up to its full height, dusted itself off and declared, ‘Enough.’ There is fire and mockery in its voice, as if the rose remembered that it has thorns. And yes, it smells not only of spring, but also of petrol.

This is not a story about perfect softness - it's about how pain turns into fertilizer and doubt turns into light. Sometimes, in order to bloom, you first need to swear, burn the old scenery and slam the door a couple of times. But then - look how beautifully it grows.